Later, in the break room, I busy myself with the coffee machine, even though I don’t need coffee. I just need to do something—anything—to keep my hands from shaking. But the harder I focus, the worse it gets. I spill coffee across the counter, and my hands tremble as I grab a napkin to mop it up.
“Mia?”
I glance up, startled, as Sheila steps into the room. Her eyes narrow as she takes me in. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, but my voice betrays me, tight and strained.
Sheila doesn’t buy it. She walks over, crossing her arms. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer. What’s going on?”
I hesitate, the words caught in my throat. I don’t want to say it out loud because once I do, it will feel too real. But the look on Sheila’s face makes it impossible to hold it in.
“Jason,” I finally say, the name bitter on my tongue. “He’s been... sending messages again.”
Her face hardens. Sheila was the first friend I made here at the hospital, when I was still delusional enough to think that Jason would leave us alone once I left Florida and moved three states away. “What kind of messages?”
“The same as always,” I say, my hands shaking as I reach for my coffee. “Threats. Promises. He called me yesterday, said he knows where the girls’ daycare is.”
Sheila gasps, and I shake my head quickly. “Nothing’s happened. He’s just trying to scare me.”
“Mia,” she frowns slightly, her voice lower now, “that’s not nothing. That’s him escalating.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I’ve moved three times, Sheila. Three. And he always finds us. No matter how far we go or how carefully I plan, he’s there again.”
“Because he’s a sick bastard who doesn’t care about boundaries,” Sheila snaps. Her hands tighten into fists at her sides. “You can’t keep doing this alone.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I whisper. “The twins aren’t even his, but he acts like we’re his property. Like we belong to him.”
Sheila steps closer, taking my hands in hers. “Mia, listen to me. You’ve done everything you can to keep them safe, but it’s not enough. You need help.”
I look down, ashamed. “Mrs. Meyers gave me the name of a security company. She said they’ll cover the cost.”
Sheila’s grip tightens. “Good. That’s a start. Call them, Mia. You can’t keep running forever.”
I nod slowly, though my stomach churns at the thought. “Yeah,” I say. “I’ll call.”
“Good,” Shiela says. “Don’t worry, everything will be okay.”
“Yeah,” I reply but the pit in my stomach says otherwise.
The drive to the daycare is short, a well-worn route I’ve taken countless times, but today it feels longer. My fingers tap anxiously against the steering wheel as I pull into the lot of Bright Beginnings Daycare, a cheerful one-story building painted in pastel yellows and blues. The playground out front is surrounded by a high chain-link fence covered in colorful drawings the kids make during art time.
Inside, the air smells faintly of crayons and hand sanitizer, and I hear the soft chatter of children as they wait for their parents to pick them up. I head towards the twins’ classroom.
“Hi, Ms. Henson!” Ms. Taylor, their teacher, greets me with a warm smile as I step inside.
“Hello,” I say, barely mustering a smile.
Emma spots me first. “Mommy!” she cries, her voice bursting with excitement as she scrambles to her feet. She charges across the room, her curly dark hair bouncing wildly, and launches herself into my arms.
Ella follows at a more measured pace, clutching her stuffed bunny, Boo, to her chest. Her neatly braided hair shines under the classroom lights.
“Mommy, look what I made!” Emma holds up a glitter-covered castle made of construction paper. “It’s for your office!”
I laugh softly, brushing her hair from her face. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart.”
Ella tugs on my sleeve. “I painted a rainbow,” she says softly. “It’s for you.” She holds out a slightly crumpled sheet of paper, her small hands careful but proud.
“Thank you, my loves,” I say, kissing each of them on the forehead. “These are perfect.”
